


Severance

by Zai42



Series: Daemon Couplets [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Separation, Depression, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Tim almost loses himself.





	Severance

**Author's Note:**

> Again, not much knowledge of HDM canon needed to get through this. Intercision/severing is the act of cutting away someone's bond with their daemon--essentially making them a soulless, unfeeling husk. Doesn't happen in this fic, but there is talk of it.

The ticket to Malaysia was one-way. The idea was just to get away and stay away, and if they eventually tired of Malaysia they could buy another ticket to somewhere else and bounce around the globe like the suave jet-setters they had wanted to be when they were younger. See the world, try new things, relearn how to appreciate all of life's little wonders.

  
Instead, Tim was curled up on his shitty motel bed in the fetal position while Sellig lay in a limp pile by his head. For a while the raccoon daemon had stroked his hair, attempting to soothe and comfort, but he had soon given in to the same lethargy that had claimed Tim and gone still and silent. "Do you think," Tim mumbled, trying to muster the strength to lift his head, "that Martin and Theo are okay?"

  
Sellig's tail twitched. "I don't...I don't think they ever were," he said. "Not while they're..." He let out a shuddering sigh and didn't finish his thought. Tim knew what he meant. "Should we eat?"

  
"I don't care." It should have alarmed him how true that statement was. At least some of his chilly apathy had been affected, back home, but now--now he truly thought he could starve to death and it would be just fine with him. Even so, the thought of Sellig's suffering still gave him enough energy to drag himself out of bed. There was half a box of battered granola bars in his suitcase. He'd eat some of those.

  
The only problem with that was getting back to the bed. He knelt with the granola bars in his lap, staring blankly at the wall and trying to muster up the willpower to get back to his feet. He failed, and curled up on the floor, using his suitcase as a pillow.

  
It was only when he woke up, several hours later judging by the way the light in the room had changed, that it occurred to him how long it had been since he'd touched his daemon. Usually he couldn't go more than a few minutes with Sellig out of arm's reach--he'd certainly never slept without him curled up next to him, or with Tim's hand splayed over his back, his fur soft and comforting beneath his fingers. Now he had been halfway across the room for who knows how long, and Tim felt _nothing,_ no lonely tug to go and gather him in his arms, no creeping sensation of being touch-starved and isolated.

  
Tim staggered to his feet and lurched over to the bed. Sellig was completely still on the sheets, curled around himself with his striped tail tucked up against his belly. Tim ran a single fingertip along his forehead, waiting to feel a rush of relief, but there was nothing, _nothing,_ and for the first time since he'd locked himself in his motel room he started to truly feel something. Panic pulsed in his veins.

  
Then Sellig's eyes opened, and there was no recognition there. No intellect. No glittering mischief--not even any of the sulky annoyance they had been feeling more often than not in the past months. He may as well have been a stuffed toy for all Tim could tell.

  
Tim cried out in horror, scooped the raccoon that had been his daemon up in his arms, and immediately began preparing to flee back to the Institute.

  
Tim didn't know a great deal about intercision, and he had never really wanted to. Now, with Sellig unresponsive in his arms, he wished he knew more. They weren't--they couldn't be--truly _severed,_ could they? Tim still _felt,_ more than he had since he'd arrived in Malaysia, and victims of intercision were supposed to be empty puppets, weren't they? Sellig might resemble a doll, but fear coursed through Tim more hotly than anything he had felt in days, more than the need to eat, more than the acid anger he had submerged himself in the first time he'd discovered Jon lurking outside his building.

  
People stared at them all the way to the airport, or at least Tim felt like they did. It wasn't until their plane was in the air that Sellig finally twitched and took in a deep breath, sitting up and taking in his surroundings. "Tim?"

  
"I'm here," Tim said. Sellig's clever paws clung to the fabric of his shirt as he dragged himself up to nuzzle against Tim's face. "We're going back, dammit," Tim muttered, sinking his fingers into Sellig's fur. "Don't--don't ever do that again, how could you--?" Sellig buried his face in Tim's neck, whimpering tiny apologies that Tim felt more than he heard. Tim clung to his daemon, staring passengers be damned, and didn't loosen his grasp until they dozed off somewhere over the ocean.

* * *

 

"Almost lost one," Sibyl murmured. Outside it was dreary, a cold rain pounding against the windows, dark clouds completely obscuring the late morning sun. "He's on his way back now," she added, unnecessarily.

  
"That's a pleasant surprise," Elias said. "I thought for sure they'd be too stubborn to make it back still...intact."

  
The swan daemon opened her eyes, stretching out her wings and neck as the familiar draining sensation crept up on them both. Sibyl allowed herself to be lifted up into Elias' lap, tucking her head under his chin. They were rarely this affectionate under normal circumstances, but then, it had been quite a while since they had been so busy. There were so many pieces so far away from them, so many players they had to turn their Gaze upon; it got to be exhausting, even when they traded off watch duty to avoid the worst of the side effects.

  
"It will come to a head soon," Elias said, absently running his fingers along Sibyl's feathers. He could feel something stirring in her, the faintest snag of displeasure, and waited for her to speak.

  
"Elias..." she said. There was uncertainty in her voice, but Elias couldn't pinpoint _why._ "What would you have done if they had been severed?" Sibyl asked. Elias curled a hand loosely around her neck, stroking the downy feathers there.

  
"I don't see what it would have mattered," he said finally. "Either they would have been taken in by some local charity, or they would have stumbled their way back here. They might even be more useful like that."

  
The faintest of shudders went through Sibyl, and she hopped off Elias' lap to settle on the wide window seat. Perhaps it should have bothered Elias more that her disgust felt alien to him, but he had long since grown used to feeling slightly out of step with his daemon. Her feelings still echoed along their connection, but they no longer felt like his own. They hadn't for some time. Still, Sibyl shook it off on her own easily enough, and when she looked back at him there was no hint of whatever had rattled her.

  
"What will we say when they get back?"

  
"It hardly matters," Elias said. "They'll understand soon enough."


End file.
